


Self-Care for Grumps

by Astray



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Thorn and Fox act like an old married couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28801155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: Fox is tired, Fox is sick, and Fox is grumpy. And the only thing that gets him to rest is the threat of paperwork. But maybe taking care of himself is not so bad with some help.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	Self-Care for Grumps

Fox was tired. No, not tired. Knackered. Absolutely dead. Dead for a century at least. He missed walking into walls twice already, and it was a miracle he got to work. His head was stuffed with cotton, his airways were clogged like the exhaust ports of a ship stationed on Tatooine for about four decades, and he genuinely could feel his temples shrink into his brain. Blessed be the armour - it was rigid enough to keep him mostly upright - at least until he got to the caff machine and Thorn got to him. 

He had argued the day before about the fact that no, he really could not miss work. It was not an option. Thorn had been absolutely unimpressed by his arguments, but by some miracle, he had not resorted to siccing their medic on him. Worst would definitely have stung him with a hypo, and there was nothing Fox could have done about that. CMOs outranked everyone in their field, including Fox, much to his dismay. So Fox had gotten quite good at remaining functional, no matter the state of fatigue or illness he was in. 

Thorn was standing there as Fox reached for his cup and Fox had a hunch that something was going to happen, but before he could guess what, Thorn touched his shoulder and gave him a small push. 

He would deny it to his dying day having fallen down - thank gods, the room was empty - but the truth was that his balance was shot to the nine hells. Another perk of being sick was when it spread to your ears. Everything was already muted, but he was not ready for that. 

“Fox.” 

And he hated that tone, he hated it, hated hated hated it. 

“You’re going home. And you are going to take care of yourself. Shot had already brought broth over, as well as a few things to help.”

“I’m-” he was obviously not fine, “alright, just tired and stuffy, I’ll be fine.”

Thorn scoffed, and removed his helmet. He reached out, helped Fox up - what happened to his coordination? - and took off his helmet. Thorn was one of the few who would take that liberty, but they were alone. 

“Look at me.” Fox obeyed, not wanting to keep the confrontation going. He was too tired, his chest was aching. “Fox, you need to rest. You’re sick, and you are contagious. Best for you to go home and heal, because if half our men get sick as well, I swear I will make your life much more difficult.”

He would not, Fox knew Thorn enough to know that. But he was right. If he left, Thorn and the others would cope - Shot and Thorn had both been sick earlier, so they were not at risk at the moment. But if most of the others got it too, it would be an administrative quagmire and Fox was the one dealing with said quagmire. 

“And look, Fox. Murdering Senators is still frowned upon, so I would rather not have you deal with anyone today. Or until you are feeling better. It took a while for that one to recover from the terror you put him in.”

Ah, yes. The Orn-Free Taa incident - Fox apparently managed to look absolutely terrifying without even showing his face. Things had been smoothed over - and Fox was no longer dealing with him. 

“Fine.” He sighed, and put on his helmet again. “Thank you.” 

Thorn simply nodded, and let him leave, making sure that Fox was indeed leaving the building and not hiding somewhere. And maybe he had done that before, who knew? He had a job to do, and better him than others. 

He did not appreciate Thorn’s advice until he was home. He put his armour away, and made his way to the bathroom. Shower, warm clothes, food, warm beverage, and bed - or couch nest, he was not sure yet which, but such was the program that was stuck to his fridge in Worst’s neat handwriting. 

The water was warm but he turned up the heat even more at the chill in his bones seemed to grow deeper for a moment. He stayed under the spray longer than necessary. Partly because he was finally warm, partly because he could not bring his feet to move. 

When he finally managed to move, he made short work of drying himself and dressing in the pajamas Koma had made for him. Blessed was their  _ vod’ika _ for his thoughtfulness. And the warmest socks he had, and slippers. 

He hated that Thorn was right, though. He shuffled to the kitchen to heat up his soup - and he was not normally that obedient but he had nothing else to do. He did not want to see anyone, or do anything, but the instant the smell of broth rose, he felt the pangs of hunger. 

He ate on the couch, something he rarely ever did, but he was cold again, and being cold never improved his mood. The broth was just spicy enough to feel like his sinuses were finally being freed, and hot enough to force him to eat slowly. He paused long enough to swaddle himself in woolen blankets, then resumed his meal. It helped, and when he was done eating, he felt incrementally warmer. 

Wolffe was meant to come back soon, and Fox had half a mind to call him to warn him. Lest Wolffe got sick as well - though he doubted anything could make Wolffe sick, after hearing the tales of the Pack’s culinary exploits. Besides, he was not sure where his comm was. 

He woke up to the sound of the door unlocking, his head heavy and his body leaden. Since the door was not broken, it meant that whoever came in had the key. Which meant that it could only be another commander from the Guard, or Wolffe. He tried to rise from his nest, squinting at the too-bright light - and almost sighing in relief the instant it was lowered. 

“I see the blankets are alive.” 

Fox grumbled and hid back under his covers. He would not be mocked by anyone, even if that anyone was his  _ riduur _ . He had his pride, thank you. He did not care that Wolffe laughed softly, and did not join him. Fox stayed put while he could hear Wolffe moving around, to his - their - room, the shower running. While he was truly feeling miserable, Fox was comforted by small things, such as Wolffe being the type to shower when he got to Fox’s place - much like Fox himself. No need to bring work back home any more than necessary - after all, barracks were where they usually would stay. Fox rarely did now, but when shinies arrived, he would stay, to help them fit in, to bond with them. 

Not much bonding was going to happen these days, though, except the viral kind. 

He must have dozed, because next thing he knew, he could smell warm cinnamon, and spices, and warm bread, and he might be sick, but he was hungry. He shuffled, trying to sit, and hands held him as his spine and muscles refused to support him. The blankets moved and even if the draft of cold air had him shuddering, Wolffe was now holding him close and it was worth the temporary discomfort. 

Fox murmured a greeting, his voice cracking and barely audible, but Wolffe did not seem to mind, as he answered him. 

“Made you spiced tea, with honey. And checked the temp so you don’t burn yourself.” 

Fox did not have it in him to grouse that he was a grownup and could in fact avoid burns on his own. Besides, he appreciated Wolffe’s care. He nodded and gingerly held the mug Wolffe had given him. It warmed his hands - how cold was he? It smelled very nice. He took a sip, and it immediately soothed his throat and exhaustion. 

He drank his cup slowly. “Thank you.” A kiss to his temple answered him. He squinted, noticing the small, bite-sized toasts laden with this spread he was so fond of. His stomach growled. 

Wolffe chuckled. “You should eat a bit, love. I see you’ve had soup earlier. And then, more nap, but maybe in bed?”

Fox shook his head. “Bed is for actual sleep. If I nap in bed I can’t wake up properly. Also, I’m sick.”

“I know.” 

“I could share my germs with you, you know.” He snuggled closer, relishing the warmth that Wolffe was giving off, and accepted being fed some bread. It tasted just right, with salt sprinkled on it. 

“I know,” said Wolffe softly, “but I don’t care about this. I want to take care of you. You deserve it. And so, nap.” 

Fox was still cold, and he was still sick. But being sprawled on top of Wolffe for a nap, with his  _ riduur _ purring softly for him, was worth it. He was getting warmer, and he could feel himself falling asleep. Maybe rest was not going to be so bad after all. 


End file.
